Inspired by the Sun's passage through Cancer, I was digging through some old email recently, and came across a piece I wrote some years ago (six to be exact) when I was wearing my poet hat. I remember writing this after dealing with a string of less than stellar relationships with men who weren't right for me. When I performed/read this piece in front of audiences, I always prefaced the poem with a joke about playing the "angry woman" so as to make it more palatable to the men that may have been in the audience. Looking back, I believe that there was a part of me that was angry but I also think that I was using that anger to draw a boundary of sorts. This was the beginning of a cathartic purge, of me taking a stand for myself and other women that also allowed themselves to be sucked into relationships--however fleeting--with men who devalued us. Today, I freely admit that this poem is angry. It's gritty, it's caustic but sometimes anger is the very thing you need to save yourself.

Vantage Points from Venus

Homeboy, this is a notice:This is a notice to inform you that from now on, from this point forwardThis moist, soft fold of flesh, between my thighsBrown like soil, seeped in rose water—With gossamer rings that circle the sun like Jupiter—Will in fact, no longer be your nomadic dumping ground.

My man, this is a noticeThis is a notice to apprise you that at this very point in timeMy pussy will no longer be considered as some random gaping hole, empty crevice, curbside GutterFor you to fillWith sour spitAnd dirty fuck fingersThat stick in me, stuck stickyWith bad blood birthedBetween you and the women who came before me

My dude, this is a noticeThis is a notice to enlighten you that as of today and every day immediately afterMy vagina will no longer be your battlegroundFor you to stage your one man revolutionsAgainst your army of spastic demonsCamped on bridges spanning matriarchal meltdownsAnd the fantastical failures of ill-equipped dads turned infant in the eyes of gods

Oh boy. This is a notice.This is a notice to advise you and your likeminded gentryThat your penis will no longer be a battering ramIt will no longer be used to break down my uterine wallsIn an effort to break me or my momentumIn breaking up your preconceived notions about who or what you mistake me to be

And mister believe me when I tell you about me—This girl, woman, daughter, sister, mother, loverAnti-Hottentot, uber VenusShe who sits atop the worldBalancing the weight of the universeUnder the pressure of her wombHolding whole galaxies between forefinger and thumbShe who steadies whole oceans between bellies and hips She, me, I,I, me, shehas come to put you on blast That until further noticeMy black ass will no longer take your shit.